Eggs
by Stfu
Summary: "You're perfect." I debate whether to feel insulted or extremely, hysterically, and outrageously insulted. "You are exactly what I need." I screech. What begins as a trip to the supermarket turns into something terribly, terribly wrong.
1. Intimate

Disclaimer: Naruto isn't mine.

* * *

><p>I am aware of my substantial lack of femininity, and that my chest can not appear any flatter, as well as the fact that my mere existence is very much a disgrace to the whole gender.<p>

But I am definitely not a man.

Anybody who believes otherwise ought to be labeled delusional, mentally challenged, or plain insane.

The person before me seems to fit all three descriptions.

"Pardon?" I eventually manage to utter. I wasn't exactly expecting to engage in a conversation with a long-haired man exhibiting freakishly uncolored pupils this early on a Sunday morning, much less in the middle of my stroll to the supermarket. Couldn't a woman buy her eggs in peace?

"I request you to accompany me this evening as an intimately-involved male acquaintance," the monotonous voice repeats.

I struggle to make sense of even a fraction of the situation, and fail miserably. My thoughts feel more scrambled than the eggs I had for breakfast. "You want me to," I pause to select the most appropriate words, "be your _boyfriend_?"

The male acknowledges my question with a blank blink. "No."

I return the blink generously, and inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. It's probably the man's first attempt at a joke. And it's not exactly awful for a first try; he almost got me!

"I believe I said intimately-involved male acquaintance."

I blink three, four, five times in confusion. It's not a joke after all. This guy is seriously in search of a male lover. Unfortunately, he's asking the wrong gender. I burst his bubble, "I think you'd have better luck asking a man."

"Oh." After considering the suggestion for half a second more, he gives me a small nod in agreement. "That makes sense."

A cloud of empathy flies through my heart and I can barely resist embracing the man with words of sympathy. Here he is, having embarked on a search for forbidden, homosexual love—only to realize that he was pursuing the wrong gender the entire time! But now that I've awoken him from his disillusion, his eyes are able to bathe in the more luminous scene of romance. I silently wish him the best of luck and flash him two encouraging thumbs up. In response, the man gently breezes his eyes down to meet mine.

"Would you kindly accompany me this evening as an intimately-involved male acquaintance?"

And once again, I'm sent beyond the boundaries of confusion. A hundred or two precious brain cells disappear from my system as I make yet another fruitless attempt to understand the situation.

I somehow make it back. "_What?_"

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

"I asked this time." His blatant expression remains unwavering. "As you suggested."

"Yes. Well, no—not exactly, I told you to ask a _man_. Why are you—" A sudden revelation cuts my thought and finally, I understand. And I am very, very offended. "Sir, I'm a _woman_."

"A woman?" He repeats my words in a tone of mild disbelief, but as mild as it is, the words now sound foreign to my ears. I suppress the urge to begin doubting my gender myself. "Why don't you resemble one?"

I debate whether to feel insulted or extremely, hysterically, and outrageously insulted.

"…My apologies." He blinks twice to emphasize how remorseful he felt. "What I meant to say was—"

"Unforgiven!" I grunt with discontent, setting my hands defiantly on my hips. Almost immediately, his gaze travels to my waist and lingers for a moment in scrutiny.

"You are exactly what I need."

What in the world— Was he now making a pass at me? After all those insults? "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Ma'am, you're entirely devoid of womanly curves." The man's lavender gaze administers a head to toe observation of my body, silently taking note of my unattractively baggy attire, and the unkempt way my hair sleeps under an ancient baseball cap. "This is indeed the most unflattering body I have come across," he decides collectedly.

A volcano of anger blows up within me upon hearing the man's disparaging remark. "_What_? _Unflattering?_" I screech. "I'll have you know, many women envy this type of body!" My chest, despite its flatness, heaved resentfully as my voice escalates dispassionately in volume. "As a matter of fact, I—"

"You're perfect."

"Excuse me?" It's impossible to keep up with this man's unpredictability. "I mean…I am, but—"

"I wish to hire you for today."

"Huh?" I raise an eyebrow skeptically. "I don't recall ever asking for—"

"I will pay you a hundred thousand."

"You—" My insulting retort comes to a halt as I perform a mental rewind and process his words. "Wait, wait." Though I dislike admitting it, greed's quite an essential forte of mine. "A hundred…thousand?"

He confirms it with a silent nod. "In cash," he pauses, fetches a thick wallet from his pant pocket, and silently checks if it held enough bills. It appears to hold ten times more than necessary; I observe with starving eyes. He resumes once I recover from my traumatized overreaction, "That is, if you can successfully portray—"

"If I pretend to be your boyfriend?" I sputter eagerly, unable to conceal the childish exuberance blooming onto my face. "That's all there is to it?" I am 99% aware of the lack of further consideration on my part. The same way I am 100% aware of the hundred thousand yen just waiting to hop into my nearly empty wallet.

"Correct."

This is too good to be true. A hundred thousand yen. In my pocket. Tonight. Just like that? Indeed, this is too good to be true. I narrow my eyes with heavy cynicism. "What's the catch?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says flatly.

But I, as Tenten Insert-Surname-Here, know better: he's up to something. "Oh, playing innocent, are we now? Don't think I'll let you off the hook just because your daily income makes my monthly salary writhe and cry," I threatened with the most frightening glare I could manage.

"But I haven't caught anything," the man replies, completely unaffected by my menacing look. "And what exactly is this hook I'm on?"

I click my tongue in irritation. "So you're bringing out the literal language now, huh?"

He exhales with soft impatience. "I'm—"

"Two can play that game," I challenge rather immaturely, if I may say so myself.

Subsequently, a wire of irritation twists past his features, and he shoots a paralyzing scowl in my direction. Clearly, it's just a desperate attempt to shut me up. And clearly, it works. I willingly comply and let him have his damn spotlight.

"I'm scheduled to attend a formal dinner festivity this evening. Arrangements involving an extravagant ballroom dance will be made prior to my arrival, but I do not wish to participate." He directs his furrowed eyebrows at me. "Bringing a male escort will most certainly diminish the obligation of dancing—for two males dancing as a couple would be too unorthodox for this grandiose event. So if you would kindly discontinue your talk regarding fishing and other trivial matters," he recites evenly, and makes a show of folding his arms, "I would like you to agree to play the role of my partner."

I hang onto his every word, solely waiting for the numbers hundred and thousand to surface. Disappointingly, they don't turn up, and I allow the less valuable words to fill my brain. "Fishing?"

He gives me a bland look. "Your catches and hooks and whatnot." His expression grows exasperated. "But that's beside the point. Ma'am, I _need_ you to do this."

I study the predicament for an instant longer but remain swallowed in indecisiveness. If only the offer were a tiny, tiny bit more—

"Ma'am, I'm willing to pay_ two hundred—_"

"Deal!" My eyes sparkle in delirium as I smile widely. Two hundred thousand. All mine. "It's a pleasure doing business with you!"

I receive a blank blink in response.

"My name is Tenten." I outstretch a friendly hand. "What's yours?"

My abrupt actions seem to have successfully caught him off guard. However, he regains his state of apathy promptly. Apparently uninformed of what a handshake is, he doesn't bring his hand toward mine. I leave it hanging in the air anyway; I am way too happy to be brought back down. Imagine how many scrambled eggs I'd be able to afford with the payment. My attention is diverted back to my new partner in crime once the sound of a name intercepts my edible train of thoughts.

"Hyuuga Neji."


	2. Perfect

Ridiculous.

That's the first adjective that comes to my mind as I gape at my reflection in the full-length vermeil mirror. I'm clothed in a murderous, grayish two-piece suit that's five sizes too small. To top it off, there's a matching waistcoat and top hat. And—you guessed it: a cane. Absolutely atrocious, really. I couldn't care less if the set's of the world's most expensive brand and 500% cashmere; it is way too formal and way too suffocating for my liking.

"I'll take it," inserts Neji, who's observing comfortably from a rosewood caned couch.

I punch him. Well, mentally. I can't move very easily with the three layers of silk constricting me. I resort to a verbal attack instead. "_What?_" Sadly, that's all my voice could produce before the boutique's couturier tugs violently at the necktie tightly fastened under my shirt collar. I swallow an excruciating scream.

Luckily, Neji notices my misery and comes to the rescue. "Do you like it?" Or not.

"No—" I stop as a light bulb flicks on inside my head. Considering the fact that my two hundred thousand is still in his hands, I don't want to come off as too impolite. Which means I have to act according to the elegance Neji deems appropriate for the little 'formal dinner festivity' of his. So I play it safe. "N-Nobody possesses taste quite as sharp as yours, Neji-san! This suit is—" My eyes roll with sarcasm. "Amazing!" I tape on a refining smile and beamed it at him.

He's not impressed. I probably shouldn't have rolled my eyes. After inspecting my figure from the highest strand of my messy hair to the miniscule dust particle resting on the tip of my worn out sneakers, he inspects a second time. A third. Following a fourth round, he decide, "Actually—Ino, prepare a tuxedo." Enter a millisecond of speculation. "In a smaller size, if possible."

The blonde tailor bows. "Right away, sir."

I want to crawl under a rock. "Neji-san, what's wrong with this suit? I think it's gorgeous." At least more gorgeous than the puny tuxedo the dressmaker's now rummaging through her inventory to find. I continue to pray viciously for someone to throw a rock big enough to hide me.

"It's not _perfect_," Neji states. "And refrain from using that word at the gathering this evening."

I mentally reprimand myself. Gorgeous? Really? "Yes, Neji-san," I utter, repeatedly reminding myself to use a more masculine range of vocabulary.

"Tenten."

I look up with polite eyes. "Yes, Neji-san?"

"We're intimately-involved." He holds my gaze. "Omit the formalities."

"Oh." I inwardly exhale a breath of contentment. I guess politeness isn't needed after all. "Got it, Neji."

"But do continue the façade of elegance." He offers me an encouraging stare. "Though it's still a bit unnatural, I'm sure you're capable of perfecting it before evening arrives."

I sigh. "Understood, Neji." Fabricated nobility sure is a pain in the—

"Hyuuga-san, is this more to your liking?" The blonde woman holds up a metallic, and almost hypnotizing, black tuxedo. It is somewhat attractive, I admit. But still, the size is unreasonable. Illogical, even. I'll die if I wear it.

My nightmare nods with great approval. "It's perfect."

Oh, how I hate that word.

After a painstaking transition of clothing, a purchase amounting to a grand thirty thousand yen, and a tiring hour of even more luxurious purchases, everything is set. Hopefully. I have my skintight tux, my hot wig, my luxury watch, my polished leather shoes, my manful choice of vocabulary, and my now proficient etiquette. And so does Neji. Though I'm not exactly sure if his unusually silky hair is a wig or not. Despite how we're dressed in nearly identical apparel, his appearance stands on a completely different level from mine. He looks poised, refined, and though I'll never say it out loud, absolutely flawless. I, on the other hand, am inwardly and outwardly suffering from the dementedly strained nature of my suit. I feel my muscles complain in agony with every movement I take.

Anyhow, a full hour remains available for use before the evening event is scheduled to officially start. And I really want to stop by the supermarket to grab some eggs, considering how it was the one single objective I had during my visit to the supermarket in the first place! But Neji has something else in mind.

"Tenten, let's review once more." A pair of lavender abysses tunnel into my eyes narcotically. "Who am I?"

"Hyuuga Neji. My intimately-involved male acquaintance."

"Who are you?"

"Tenten. Your intimately-involved male acquaint—"

"Rename yourself," Neji intercepts. "Tenten's a bit suspicious after all."

I furrow my eyebrows at the remark but ponder for an alias nevertheless. "…Ichigo?" Almost immediately, the Hyuuga destroys my suggestion with an apathetically cold expression. I sigh tediously. "I don't know."

Neji releases a sigh as well, though much more reticently. "We'll create one later. Proceed." He clears his throat softly. "What are we?"

"A male couple," I answers dully.

"What are we prohibited from doing?"

"Getting funky on the dance floor."

"I beg your pardon?" Neji displays a disapproving scowl. "I am capable of reducing the two hun—"

"Okay, okay," I cut in frantically. "We're prohibited from engaging in any act pertaining to the ballroom waltz."

"For what reason?"

You can't dance. "It's a meaningless exertion of precious time and energy," I reply with rare precision.

"If I clear my throat, what will you say?"

"Yes."

"If I blink three consecutive times?"

"No."

Neji nods in satisfaction. "If I touch my hand with the other?"

"Perhaps."

"And if the other touches yours?"

Damn, I forgot that one. I try, although in vain, to remember. "Good evening?"

"Incorrect." Neji exhales impatiently. "You will say nothing." He then brings his unexpectedly warm fingers toward mine. "You will hold it."

"Oh." I take a second to absorb the thought. Then, I hesitantly but softly place my hand in his awaiting one. As I watch it carefully and comfortably wrap around mine, I can't help but notice how the spaces between his fingers and mine allow our hands to intertwine in just the right way. It's more than just right, actually. It's warm. Pleasant, even. I guess it wouldn't be entirely wrong for me to describe it as—

"Perfect." He lets me go and the tender sensation unwillingly does the same. "You're well-prepared."

I nod absentmindedly. "Uh, it's about time we go, isn't it?"

Neji returns an affirmative gesture of his eyes, and draws from his pant pocket a small phone. "In front of Ino's Boutique," he speaks into it. A pause and a few words later, he hangs up and turns to me. "Our ride will arrive shortly."

My reaction is to tilt my head amiably. As I do, I feel the artificial locks of filaments enclosing my actual hair sway from side to side atop my head. It generates very, very small but still present drafts of wind that are, in contrast to the stifling state of my hair, quite cooling. I wiggle around my head some more.

Sooner or later, leaning toward the sooner side, a pretentiously onyx limousine appears and parks n front of us. A young chauffeur with equally onyx eyes steps out and walks toward the last door of the long vehicle. He opens it. "Get in," Neji orders as he himself eases into the backseat. Apparently, 'ladies first' does not apply if the lady is dressed in manly attire. "And once you do," he pauses to view something above my head, "please do something about your wig. It became horrendous."

I hold my head, and the last bit of womanly pride I have left, high in defiance. "Well, I don't know about you," I begin as I step in beside him, fully disregarding his suggestion, "but I think it looks absolutely _gorgeous."_


	3. Signal

Delighted exclaims from all corners of the baroque dining hall welcome the duo the moment the monumental brass door let them in. How the sight of a couple with matching tuxedos and synchronized footsteps, walking shoulder to shoulder, is able to arouse such delightful reception rests beyond my understanding. Frankly, the two would seem fairly peculiar, if not bizarre, to me. Unfortunately, in this case, I'm one of them.

A "Hyuuga Neji!" booms from across the room. The boisterous voice's carrier dashes, in the most graceful way a lunatic can, toward us with a pair of ecstatic, opened arms, a piece of Danish torte in one hand and a glass of Chateau Lafitte wine in the other. "It's a pleasure to see you again!"

"Good evening, Uzumaki Naruto," Neji greets eloquently. "The pleasure is all mine."

"How's your business going?"

"Fairly well."

The blonde man lets out a laugh. "Oh, modest as always! I hear that it's at its pinnacle around this time of the year."

Neji gives a majestic smile. I catch myself staring. "I suppose."

"Oh!" Finally noticing me, his cerulean orbs shimmer to my flat stare. "And who might this pretty woman be?" He pops the piece of pastry into his mouth.

I almost choke on the compliment. _Pretty?_ That's a first. I radiate with the toothiest smile in the history of smiles at the man, and struggle to find my voice to express my gratitude.

"_Woman_?" Neji's tone drips with hostility. Only after five seconds pass do I remind myself once more that I'm a damn man for the night. "_Pretty?_" I now wince upon hearing the term, which in Neji's rule book isn't manly enough to be deemed an appropriate adjective.

Confused, Naruto blinks at him. And then at me. And then back at him. "Do you not find her attractive?" My smile revives a bit.

"Him, you mean." It dies again.

"Huh?" The unruly male leaves his mouth agape, the unfinished bits of dessert exposed for all to see. I unconsciously look away. "But she…I mean he—he was smiling at the compliment just now!"

I sense Neji fuming, and inwardly hope that he has a way out of this. It shouldn't be very hard—Naruto isn't exactly the sharpest crayon in the box. I watch Neji furrow his brow in thought, clear his throat, open his mouth to speak, only to close it again.

Wait. He cleared his throat.

Isn't that one of our signals?

If I recall correctly, I'm supposed to say…

"Yes."

Almost immediately, Neji whips his head to my direction with a hint of horrific surprise in his eyes. I stare back, confused. Did I do something wrong?

"See, even the woman herself admits it." Naruto lets out a bellowing laugh and pats Neji's back friendlily. "Looks like she sold you out, Hyuuga!" he mocks.

That wasn't…a sign?

"So." The blonde turns to me with curiosity. "How come you're not wearing a dress?"

I find myself unable to come up with a viable answer. My perplexed gaze remains glued to my date's unreadable expression.

"Wait, don't answer that." Naruto raises a finger enthusiastically. "Let me guess, you've prepared matching outfits especially for the dance!" A knowing smile. "Am I right?"

Neji narrows his eyes coldly, but remains wordless. He's obviously not the type to improvise, I observe. Realizing that my foolish misunderstanding had somewhat put his reputation at risk, I come to Neji's rescue. Hopefully.

I let out a deep chuckle. "Uzumaki-san, of all the clever gentlemen in this ballroom, you were one of the last that I had expected to fall for such a simplistic gimmick." I brush a few strands of fake hair from my forehead to allow the glint of amusement in my eyes activate at full power. "From which qualities of mine did you derive the silly conclusion that I was a female?" I strain my voice, and urge it to go lower. "My voice? My decorum? My appearance?"

Naruto ponders in mild bewilderment, but soon displays an entertained grin. "To be frank, the third."

I flaunt a tight smirk. "Do I look in the least bit feminine to you?" I let out a convincing laugh, unconsciously glancing at Neji from the corner of my eye. He's still silent as a scarecrow. "If I were a woman, this would indeed be the most unflattering body you've ever come across, wouldn't it, Uzumaki-san?" I smile as I recite the earlier insults from Neji himself.

His smirk only grows wider. "Pardon my misunderstanding." But he doesn't seem convinced. Not enough, at least.

"As I'm sure you have noticed, I'm entirely devoid of womanly curves." I trace a slim finger down the right side of my body, making the vertical trail as straight as reasonably possible. "And look at my chest, Uzumaki-san." My self-confidence takes a harsh blow. "It's completely _flat_." Something gets caught in my throat. These insults are now coming from my own mouth, but it still generates the same impact as the first time. It…hurts.

The man lets out another trademark cackle, pointing at my torso with an accusing finger. "You're right, I should've brought that into consideration."

I can only continue my smiling facade.

He persists. "If we were to compare your chest to that of a typical man even, yours is by far the—"

However, his offensive remark is cut off when, much to our astonishment, Neji snarls with chilling irritation, wraps a strong hand around my wrist, and pulls me closer to his side, in an almost protective manner. "_Excuse us, _Uzumaki_,_" he hisses, and drags me across the plaza, toward the washroom area.

My confusion allows him to pull me along with not much trouble.

As we step closer and closer, I mentally prepare myself for any inappropriate images that await me beyond the men's room. However, upon reaching the division between male and female, Neji leads us into the female one with zero hesitation.

"Hey—" I begin to protest.

"I won't allow a lady to expose her vision to such unsightly conditions that urinals encourage," he replies, pushing me first through the ladies' room impatiently before I can ask about the dire consequences _he'll_ face.

Thankfully, there aren't many occupying the facilities—only a woman and her daughter washing their hands. I bite my lip nevertheless. They'll definitely see Neji through the mirror. As if she heard my inward comment, the youngster gazes at the mirror, eyes traveling up to view Neji's face.

"Ma…Mama's hair!"

"What, sweetie?" the elegantly-dressed woman bends toward the little girl to straighten her dress's ribbon.

The child turns around and points at Neji. "She has Mama's hair!"

I mentally shoot the girl with laser beams. "Ahhh, Nene-chan! I told you to wear a pad just in case!" I exclaim with the highest voice I could manage, signaling with my eyes for the man to play along. "You're lucky I brought some spares with me. Let's do this as fast as possible; our men are waiting outside!" I push Neji into the biggest stall, flashing a sheepish smile at the two other females in the room, and disappear behind the door.

"Mama, what are they doing?" I hear the young girl say from the other side of the stall.

There's a nervous laugh. "Honey, you'll understand when you get older…"

"That's not fair!" An immature whine. "You always say that!"

A few more seconds of hand-drying and grooming later, two pairs of footsteps shuffle toward and out the door, which closes with an affirmative click.

I let out a sigh of relief and then whip around to glare at my accompaniment, who's seated rather comfortably on the lidded toilet seat. "What in the world are we doing here?"

Neji merely looks at me—without blinking or shifting his eyes—and takes quite a long time to process my words, but in the end fails to produce a verbal answer.

I rub my temples with a tinge of displeasure. "I'm assuming this is about the nickname I assigned you just now. Pardon me, Nene-chan was the only one I could come up within half a second," is the politest clarification I can manage. I press my lips together when Neji again doesn't reply, and watch him stare off into space.

"So why'd you bring me to the girls' bathroom again?" I ask, despite Neji's increasingly blank expression."And just when I was about to fully convince Uzumaki-san too…" I sigh for the hundredth time.

"Tenten?"

I look up in slight surprise at the sudden sound, as well as the light tone of his voice, and almost forget to reply. "Yes?"

Neji begins to shift his eyes now, from left to right, then right to left. I watch in silence at the odd behavior. Since when did this arrogant man possess such humbleness? He clears his throat, and raises his eyes toward me expectantly.

Ah, I see. A soft laugh slips from my mouth. "Yeah, our signals didn't work out very beautifully after all…"

Neji keeps soundless, now with his brows furrowed in either frustration or determination. I can't tell. "Tenten," he tries again.

"Neji," I answer.

"You're—" He swallows the small lump in his throat.

I blink. "I'm?"

"I'm…"

I wait with patient eyes. "You're…?"

"…I'm uncomfortable here after all."

Oh, so that's what it was.

"Well, it _is_ the girl's bathroom." I rest a hand on my hip for emphasis, but soon awkwardly remove it once I remember that the pose kills my body's physical appeal.

Oddly, Neji doesn't criticize it this time. "You—"

"Hold on." I spin around to peek through the stall's thin cracks, ascertaining that we're still the only ones in the room. "The coast is clear." I move to unlock the stall's door. "Would you like to get out now?"

"Tenten." He's standing up now, body positioned only a few feet from mine.

"Hm?" I turn to face him and tilt my head politely. "What is it, Neji?"

"I'm sorry."

My thoughts momentarily freeze as I feel a wave of bewilderment wash over my face. "What…" I battle my inner doubts to regain my composure. "Why?"

Neji shortens the distance between us, reluctantly placing a pale hand atop my head. "Because…" I could only wordlessly stare into his penetrating, lavender gaze as I feel his fingers gently slide my wig off. "You're fired."


End file.
